Infinite Space
by JBS-Forever
Summary: One-shot. Stiles can't sleep. In the midst of a panic attack, he winds up at the last place he ever thought he'd go looking for help: Derek's loft. (Set after season 3 finale. Spoilers.)


**SPOILERS. **

**Set after the season finale. Don't read if you don't know who died.**

**This will be a little different than the real Teen Wolf world, since nothing has happened to Derek in my story.**

**Not really sure where this one-shot came from. It's a little meh, but I thought I'd post something different from my usual genre.**

**So...enjoy?**

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He's stabbing Scott, twisting the knife deep inside him. He's walking down the hall, looking for Melissa, people being sliced all around him. He's watching people die at his hand and he can't do anything about it. He can't control his body; it's not his anymore. He kills people–innocent people, people who didn't deserve to die.

Stiles sighs into the darkness. He remembers everything, and he wishes he didn't. The Nogitsune is dead, he has his body back, but nothing is normal. Nothing will ever be normal again.

Allison is dead. Aiden is dead. Isaac is gone. Scott and Lydia are nursing their broken hearts. And Stiles can't sleep. Can't stand the dark or the quiet. Whenever he closes his eyes, he loses control of his body. Remembers what he's done.

He sits up and looks at the clock on his nightstand. The glowing numbers tell him it's nearly two in the morning. His dad is at work, and Stiles feels alone. Empty. That's all he's felt since the Nogitsune split him. Since Allison died. It is, after all, his fault.

His chest starts to ache and he stumbles to his feet, slipping his shoes on. He needs to move before the panic attack starts. Lately, they've been overwhelming Stiles, catching him by surprise in the most random places. He won't let this one get to him. He grabs his keys and he's out the door in a second.

He drives until the voices in his head stop reminding him what he's done. He needs someone, anyone really–but everyone has their own problems to deal with. Well, everyone except one person. The one person Stiles never thought he'd be seeking help from on his own accord.

But Stiles _needs_ someone, someone who isn't falling apart, so he makes a U-turn at the next light and not long after finds himself parking in front of the old, familiar building he had last been to as the Nogitsune. When he was telling Argent to shoot him, daring him to pull the trigger in front of his father. Stiles knows the Nogitsune fed off pain. He shivers and climbs out of the car.

He can hear a shrill ringing coming from inside the loft and he knocks once on the closed door before it opens.

"What's up, Stiles?"

In front of him, Derek is clad in only his pajamas and a white t-shirt. His hair is a mess around him, and Stiles knows he's woken him up. He's not sure what time it is. now

He frowns, looking at the small, flashing blue light in the corner of the room. "What is that?" he asks. Derek looks over his shoulder lazily.

"It's the alarm," he says. "There's an intruder."

"Your alarm tells you there's an intruder and you just open the door?" Stiles asks as he steps inside the loft. Derek moves aside and closes the door behind him.

"I could smell you," he says. "You smell more like a flower than you do a threat."

Stiles turns to look at him. "But like a poisonous flower, right? Like, one that looks all nice, but then you sniff it and _bam_!– you keel over and die."

Derek passes by him. He's so close that Stiles can feel the heat radiating off him. It's been a long time since Stiles has felt warm, since he's felt heat from anyone. Derek hits the alarm and it turns off.

"What do you want, Stiles?"

Stiles sighs in defeat. He sinks down on the couch and drops his head into his hands. "I don't know why I'm here," he admits softly. "I–I just…"

"Are you having a meltdown or something?" Derek asks. Stiles glances up.

"Would you blame me if I was?"

"Not really." Derek closes the distance between them and sits on the arm of the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. "But isn't Scott your go-to-guy when you're having problems?"

"Yeah, well." Stiles looks down at his fingers. "Scott has been having a meltdown of his own the last few days."

"Right. That thing with Allison." Derek sounds uncomfortable, or bored–Stiles isn't sure which. "What did you think coming here would do?"

"I dunno," Stiles says wearily, and he really doesn't. "I just can't sleep."

"And you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

"Only if you can sing it in A flat."

Derek shrugs. "Sorry, I only know one in an F minor."

Stiles scowls, despite his situation, and looks over at the older boy. "Who sings a lullaby in a minor key? That's just creepy."

"Well, if you're gonna be stingy about it, you can get out," Derek says. Stiles smiles and glances over at the window where moonlight is pouring into the loft. Derek has the lights on, though, and it creates a warm glow throughout the place. Stiles looks away from the platform where he had stood before, trying not to think about it.

He's pulled out of his thoughts when a pillow is thrown at his face.

"Here," Derek says, and tosses a folded blanket onto the couch. Stiles gives him a confused look.

"It's like two-thirty in the morning, Stiles. Either sleep on the couch and we'll talk about this later, or get in your jeep and drive home. Your choice."

Stiles doesn't have to decide. He shakes out the blanket, kicks off his shoes, and lays down on the couch. Derek watches him get settled and waits until he has stopped moving before he flips the light off.

"Goodnight, Stiles," he says, starting up the spiral staircase. Stiles mutters something back to him, feeling the sudden weight of all those sleepless nights catching up to him. His eyes grow too heavy to keep open and he listens to the fleeting sound of Derek's footsteps as he disappears up the stairs.

Stiles is standing on the platform of the loft, facing the door. It's dark and he thinks he's alone, but he's not. He wants to move, to look around, but his body isn't his anymore. It's the Nogitsune's. And so Stiles waits until it forces his eyes to look around.

And then he sees them.

On the floor around him, there are bodies lying in pools of blood. Allison, Aiden, Ethan, Isaac, Lydia, Scott, Melissa, and Derek. Stiles feel his heart drop into his stomach.

"This is your fault, Stiles," the Nogitsune says through his voice. "All these people died because of you."

Stiles wants to argue, wants to tell it it's wrong, but he has no control. The Nogitsune looks at the door as it opens, and Stiles wants to scream. His father is there, approaching him slowly, carefully. He looks at the dead bodies on the ground and then back up to him.

"Stiles, please let me know that you're in there," he says brokenly. "Please let me know you're still alive."

And Stiles' face crumbles as part of the Nogitsune trick. "Dad," it whispers. Stiles fights, fights as hard has he can to get control, to tell his father to run.

"Oh, Stiles," his dad says, closing the distance between them. Then he's gasping, looking at Stiles through wide eyes. The Nogitsune looks down enough to let Stiles see that it has stabbed his father in the stomach with a knife. It rips the blade free and his dad drops to the ground, hands covering the wound as it begins to pour out blood.

"DAD!" Stiles yells, and this time it's really him–only he's not standing on the platform. He's on the couch, back where he fell asleep, tangled in the blanket Derek gave him.

He rolls off the cushions and collides hard with the ground, gasping. He can't stop the panic attack this time. He wheezes as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the couch. He can barely hear Derek's hurried footsteps, but he does hear the growl that rises from his throat, telling Stiles the older boy must have assumed he was in danger.

He can't tell Derek what's really happening, though, because he can't breathe. But Derek must realize it, because a second later, he's kneeling beside Stiles, looking worried.

"Stiles, what is it?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

Stiles lets out a sob and grasps at his chest. "P-p-panic," he chokes out, because it's all he can say in the shallow breaths he's pulling in.

"Are you having a panic attack?"

Stiles nods. Yellow spots are starting to appear in front of his vision. He needs a paper bag, or a sedative. Something to make this stop before he dies– and he's almost sure he will this time. His chest is stinging.

"I'll call Scott," Derek says quickly, but Stiles reaches out to grab the front of his shirt before he can stand. He shakes his head. Scott can't help him. There's nothing that can help these panic attacks. Stiles just has to wait for them to pass, just has to remind himself he's okay, even if he doesn't feel like it.

"Okay," Derek says, and he gently pries Stiles' hand open. "Just relax. Breathe."

He wraps his fingers around Stiles' wrist. "Just focus on your breathing, okay?" he murmurs, and then Stiles feels the strangest sensation he's ever felt; it's like someone is draining all the blood from his body, making him feel light. The pain in his chest flares for a moment and then travels down through his arm and into Derek, who has his eyes closed tightly. Stiles feels a rush of air leave his lungs and then everything goes black.

He wakes sometime later with a gasp and shoves himself up, limbs flailing in panic. He's back on the couch, but he doesn't remember where he is or what has happened. He just remembers the feeling of panic, and it resonates with him now, swirling around in his chest.

"Stiles, calm down," a voice is saying, and the person reaches out to grab Stiles' arms, forcing them to stop moving. "Don't make me hit you. It would only be fair payback from when you hit me."

Stiles looks up to see that it's Derek who is keeping him still. Everything suddenly comes rushing back to him and lets out a long breath, the panic fleeing. He sags back against the arm of the couch and Derek releases him.

He's dressed now, wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt. There are dark circles under his eyes and Stiles wonders how long he kept him up, kept him from sleeping because of his panic.

"What happened?" he asks. Derek sits on the edge of the cushions and hands him a glass of water that he seems to have produced from nowhere. Stiles takes a long drink of the cool liquid.

"I could ask you the same question," Derek says. Stiles sighs. He glances out the window and sees that the sky outside is a light blue. There's no clock anywhere to tell him what time it is.

"Oh, God," he moans, shifting his weight anxiously. "My dad's gonna kill me."

"Sit still," Derek says firmly. "I already let him know you're here."

Stiles blinks at him. "You did? When?"

"Right after you first got here."

"Why?"

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Did you really want your dad to come home and not find you there?"

Stiles can't imagine the panic his dad would have felt. He's glad Derek had the sense to let him know where he was. He doesn't want his dad to worry anymore than he already does.

"You used that werewolf thing on me," he mutters, taking another drink of water before setting the cup on the floor. Derek shrugs and gets to his feet.

"Yeah, well, you were kind of hyperventilating. I didn't want you to pass out."

"So you solved that by making me pass out?" Stiles asks skeptically. Derek rolls his eyes and starts over to the kitchen.

"You could just be thankful, you know," he says.

"Then where would my sense of dignity go?"

Derek ignores his comment as he rummages around through the fridge. "Want something to eat?"

"No," Stiles says quickly. Much too quickly. He looks down at his hands, chews on his bottom lip. Derek glances over at him and then shrugs. He pulls out a carton of eggs and sets them on the counter.

"You wanna talk about what happened last night?" he asks, turning on the stove. He drops down behind the counter to get a pan, and Stiles sighs again.

"I don't really know," Stiles admits. He scrubs at his face wearily. "I've just been a little jumpy lately, I guess."

"A little?" Derek asks, shooting him a look. "I faintly recall you having a pretty bad panic attack."

Stiles shakes his head and mutters, "I've had worse." He doesn't miss the expression on Derek's face.

"I'm not good at this comforting thing," Derek says, pulling out a bowl from the cupboard. He opens the carton and grabs an egg, cracks it on the rim of the bowl. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything," Stiles responds. He doesn't. He just needed to be with someone, needed to be around someone who isn't falling apart.

"Then why'd you come here?"

"I–" he breaks off, scared to tell Derek the real reason. Scared to tell him he thinks Derek is strong and can handle anything, and that he needed to be around that. He knows Derek won't let him fall to pieces. Will keep him from losing control of himself.

"I can't get warm anymore," he says. "I'm not sleeping, and when I do, I have terrible nightmares. I've been having panic attacks almost everyday. No matter what I do, it feels like there's this giant empty hole in my chest. I just needed someone who…"

"Who wasn't falling apart?" Derek offers. Stiles nods silently. Derek tosses the egg shell into the garbage can and walks back over to Stiles. He sits on the arm of the couch.

"What makes you think I'm not falling apart?" he asks. Stiles knits his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Because you never fall apart."

Derek shakes his head. "I'm always falling apart, Stiles," he says. "But I'm able to hide it. I'm able to deal with it. If I wasn't, my wolf would be going crazy. He would attack anyone and everyone."

"I don't have a wolf," Stiles says. "I can't control my feelings like you can. I just…I needed to be around someone who would make me feel like I wasn't dying. Because… I'm not sure I'm not."

Derek sighs. He moves to kneel in front of Stiles. He grabs Stiles' hand and bends it back so his palm presses against his own chest, right over his heart.

"Do you feel that?" he asks. "That's your heartbeat, Stiles. You're alive. You're not dying."

Stiles looks up at him, swallowing hard. "You're right. You're not good at this comforting thing," he mutters. Derek rolls his eyes and drops his hand.

"I know you're going through a rough time right now," Derek says. "You all are. You've lost a lot of people you love. You were possessed by a dark power. That doesn't just go away. But no one else is gonna go through this journey for you, Stiles. You have to learn to calm down and be at peace. You can't change what happened."

"Is that what you did?" Stiles asks. "When you lost your family?"

Derek chuckles dryly. "Of course not. I sought revenge."

Stiles smiles. Derek rises to his feet and goes back to the kitchen. "You can stay here whenever you need. Just don't show up at two in the morning, again, okay?"

Stiles laughs. "Yeah, sorry. You win some and you lose some, I guess." He leans back, sinking down against the pillow. "Derek?"

Derek looks over at him. "Yeah?"

"Thank you," Stiles says. "I know you don't think you're good at comforting, but you are. In a weird, F minor kind of way."

Derek rolls his eyes.


End file.
